The Flu
by jenny jar
Summary: Another take on Andy leaving the Runway, assuming she hasn't left in Paris
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize something, it isn't mine.

**A/N:** English is neither my first, nor my second language. Please, proceed at your own risk.

**THE FLU**

**1.**

"Andrea, bring me the RSVP's."

Andy is up and has a list in her hand, before she even has a chance to process Miranda's request. A quick walk later she is standing in front of her boss. "Miranda."

Over the rim of her reading glasses, the woman in question looks at the papers in Andy's hand and frowns. Andy also peeks at the papers. "Miranda?"

"I thought I was very clear, when I asked you to bring me the RSVP's." Miranda says it in a very calm, quiet tone of voice, but Andy knows better than to linger.

As she rushes out of her boss' office, she glances at Emily. "RSVP's?" she mouths. The girl only shrugs in response and promptly returns her attention to the computer screen.

Right.

Andy heads to the cabinets, grabs a box, quickly checks the content, and returns to Miranda's office. The woman greets her with "put it on the table" without looking at her. Andy nods automatically, does what she is told, and pauses just long enough to hear "that's all."

Back at her desk, for a moment Andy lets herself think about Miranda's strange request. But the phone rings, and her attention shifts to the caller.

At night, while waiting for the Book, Andy wanders into Miranda's office to pick a newspaper to read. As she walks out with the _New York Times_, she notices the box of RSVP's on the table. All the cards are still in the box, and Andy wonders if her boss has actually looked at them.

Still thinking about it, Andy returns to her desk and pulls out a list of invitees. It looks like this party is more social than business or charity event, she realizes soon. There are very few people from fashion world, not enough Wall Street or Real Estate heavy hitters, and a number of names Andy doesn't recognize at all. And Miranda is eager to see someone, or ones, at this particular party. Are they coming?

Either way right there and then Andy decides to do her very best to make sure everything goes smoothly. If she is right, this is more than just business, this is personal for Miranda. And she absolutely doesn't want to think how horrid the woman will get if there is so much as a glitch.

For the next week and a half Andy watches her boss for any signs of displeasure (more than usual that is) or satisfaction, trying to figure out if those, important for Miranda people, have actually accepted the invitation. But Miranda is being Miranda, and Andy is so busy that most of the time she rarely has a chance to look at the woman, let alone figure out the unusual changes in her disposition.

But in the end, no matter how hard Andy works to take care of every little detail for the party, on the day of the event a disaster strikes. Miranda comes into the office an hour later that usual, cancels her morning appointments, and asks Andy to get her personal physician on the phone.

The situation becomes clear after Nigel's brief meeting with Miranda. The man leaves her office in an obvious hurry, whispers "flu," and disappears, shaking his head.

"Flu…" Emily repeats, her eyes wide in horror.

"You mean…" Andy glances at Miranda's closed door.

"Oh my god, what are we going to do?" Emily shifts nervously papers on her desk.

"No biggie, Em," Andy shrugs, "There is stuff she can take…"

"She is allergic to most of it," Emily informs darkly.

"Oh. But I am sure there is something…"

Miranda storms out of her office. "I'll be out for an hour. Get me Richard on the phone by twelve. Call florist to confirm there is no freesias anywhere in the hall…" The woman suddenly stops and sneezes. Then, she sneezes again. Andy, after a very brief hesitation, puts down her pencil and pad and offers Miranda a box of tissues. The woman glares at her, grabs the coat and the bag from frozen in place Emily, and stomps out. Andy swallows hard and refuses to think about the party.

But whether she thinks about it or not, when the time comes she dresses up and goes to the event.

She is there, when Emily, who went with Miranda to the afternoon meeting, comes in.

"How is she?" Andy asks right away, foregoing a "skinny" complement, which usually makes the other girl a little easier to work with.

"I think we may survive," Emily answers, also foregoing her usual snippy tone. "Her doctor gave her something." Then, she mutters, "I do hope, it bloody holds till the end of the party."

It seems to, and the party goes without a hitch. More or less. Andy doesn't care that Emily and she have to deal with a couple of drunken guests, and a clumsy waiter, and a misplaced chair, and other little things like that, as long as Miranda is, well, Miranda, and not some watery-eye, feverish, fire-breathing dragon in the middle of very important for her event.

Whatever Miranda has taken works so well that Andy begins to relax and enjoy herself a little. She's even strikes a conversation with an older couple, whose son, as it turns out, works for the _New York Times_. But as she is about to tell them that she's read some of his articles, in the corner of her eye she sees Miranda's face goes pale. Andy excuses herself and makes a bee line to the group of people around the woman.

"Would you like me to call Roy?" she asks quietly, after she manages to pull Miranda aside.

"Have I asked you to?" Miranda hisses back, but her displeasure is very short lived, as she momentarily sways on her feet.

"Miranda!?" Andy barely stops herself from grabbing the woman.

"Uh," Miranda breathes in, purses her lips into impossibly tight line, then shakily breathes out, and whispers, "Call Roy."

Thank God.

It is quickly decided that Emily stays and mans the party, while Andy takes Miranda home.

"I am perfectly capable of…" Miranda begins, already in her coat and heading out the door. However before she manages to express her objections, Miranda sways again. "Uh…"

"Miranda?"

The woman takes a deep breath and, ignoring Andy, walks out with a determined, straight gait. Andy pauses for a moment, but then rushes after her.

As Miranda climbs into the car, Roy, who holds the door for her, and Andy, who hovers on the side, exchange panicked glances. At the end Andy bites her lip and slides next to Miranda.

The short ride Andy spends worrying. At first she worries that she has imposed her help on Miranda, and when the woman is back to her normal self… Gosh, better not even go there. Andy glances at Miranda and promptly begins to worry about something else. Even in dim flashes of street lights, they are passing, the woman's face looks unnaturally pale. And the way she sits, kind of slumping against the door, breathing rapidly…

She probably should call Stephen to give him heads up on Miranda's condition, Andy decides before remembering that Stephen isn't there anymore. The girls? Would Cara… Oh, the girls are with their father for the weekend, so Cara is gone too. Shit. Is there anyone there? A maid? A cook? Andy begins to sweat, because there isn't anybody there this late, and she can't just leave Miranda all by herself, and shit…

The car stops at the townhouse, and Roy opens the door for Miranda. Andy jumps out too. She quickly catches up with the woman, who walks much slower than she usually does. They climb several steps to the front door, before Miranda stops. Andy stops too. She peeks at the woman, gulps, and begins to hunt for her own key to the townhouse.

When the door is open, Miranda, Andy in toe, staggers in.

"Maybe I should call a doctor?" Andy hazards, as she makes a move to help the woman out of the coat.

"No!" Miranda rasps, stepping away and wrapping the coat tighter around her middle. "I am…I am fine… Go… That's…all."

"Miranda, let me just…" Andy isn't sure what she is about to say – make you some tea, give you aspirin, put you to bed - because the woman, attitude or not, looks on a verge of collapsing, and Andy can't leave her like this in an empty house.

"I believe I said…" The woman halts in the middle of the sentence and pulls her coat even tighter around her. "Why is it so cold…in…here…"

That jolts Andy into action. She practically hauls Miranda to the couch in the study and sprints around a small room in search of something warm – a throw, a blanket, anything. But there are only books, and knick-knacks, and pictures. Andy turns to ask and swears instead – the woman is visibly shaking now.

Andy rips her own coat off, covers Miranda with it, and grabs the cell phone. "I am calling Doctor Steckelman," she states, and quickly dials the number before Miranda can object.

"Hello," the man answers almost right away despite the lateness of the hour.

"Doctor?"

As soon as the man confirms, Andy barely takes a breath before rushing ahead. "This is Andy, um, Andrea Sachs, Miranda Priestly's assistant. She is, well, she is cold, um, very cold. I think she is getting a fever. Fast. And I know she is allergic to, um, to something, and I don't know what I can give her. There is no one else here, and I don't know who else to ask…"

"Wait, wait, slow down, Andy, is it?" The doctor speaks in very calm, mild manner that is actually calming, and is nothing like Miranda's, which makes people cower.

Andy takes a deep breath, and says, "Yeah…yes."

"Good. Now, Andy, tell me where you are."

Andy looks around. "Um, study, I think." That comes out weird, even to her. Then it clicks. "Oh, no, sorry. We are at Miranda's house."

"Good. Why don't I stop by and see what is happening with Ms. Priestly."

"You'd do that?" asks Andy surprised, before smacking her forehead - of course he would, stupid.

The man on the other end chuckles and says, "You see, Andy, Ms. Priesly is a very special patient of mine."

Sure, Andy thinks, but out loud offers, "Would you like me to send a car to pick you up?"

"That would be very helpful, thank you."

Waiting for the doctor Andy resumes her search for something to cover Miranda with, because the woman can't stop shaking. At least there is no sneering and scorning, when Andy drags a huge duvet from the upstairs bedroom and tucks it all around Miranda. Not that the woman's compliancy makes Andy feel any better. She even catches herself wishing for a snip or a cold "that's all"…


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

The doctor looks nothing like Andy has imagined a doctor that Miranda trusts would look like. When an extremely tall, well-dressed man walks in the door, Andy stands, gaping at him.

"Andy?" the man asks.

That gets her out of her stupor. "Yeah…yes, thank you for coming, Doctor Steckelman."

"Of course," the man smiles broadly, and Andy realizes that he is relatively young, no more than mid-forties, and very handsome. Amazing, she thinks, even Miranda's doctor looks like he can be photographed for her magazine.

"The patient?" the man continues smiling. Andy blinks, and "oh shit, right," almost comes out, but thankfully she manages a weak "here" instead.

She instantaneously forgets, though, her embarrassment and the doctor's good looks, when she sees Miranda's face – unfocused reddened eyes, drawn cheeks, colorless lips, pressed in a tight line. Andy gulps and lets the doctor in. It's just a flu, she tells herself firmly, as she steps back into the hallway and closes the door behind her. Just a flu…

The next few minutes feel like an eternity. Andy paces outside the study, biting her lips, and trying not to listen in to what's going on behind the closed door. She probably has quite a look on her face, because when the doctor comes out to ask, "Would you give me a hand, Andy?" he adds softly, "She is going to be all right. Promise." Andy nods and quickly inhales and exhales. She knew it. She absolutely did.

Her help is limited to dragging the huge duvet back to the upstairs bedroom, where the doctor leads Miranda. Or rather, Miranda slowly heaves herself to, while the doctor walks next to her, ready to give a hand, if… Well, the three of them make it to the bedroom, where Miranda, her teeth chattering audibly, insists on changing and taking off her make-up by herself. Which she does, while Andy and the doctor are rolling on the balls of their feet just outside her bathroom door.

When Miranda is finally in bed, she looks absolutely exhausted and seems to shake even harder than before. Andy bites her lip and glances at the doctor. The man gives her a reassuring nod before turning to Miranda. "So, Ms. Priestly, what is going to be?"

Miranda frowns at him. "Doctor Steckelman…" she rasps.

"Yes, yes, I know, you don't need a sitter. It is a simple flu." In a year that Andy has been working for Miranda Priestly, she has never heard anyone speaks to the woman in such a friendly, easy manner, let alone interrupts her so casually. Startled, she let go of her lip.

Meanwhile, the doctor continues, "And yet, neither this lovely girl," he gestures at Andy, "nor I will feel comfortable leaving you alone tonight, won't we?" Andy nods, although no one is actually looking at her. "If you don't want to use my nurse," the doctor presses on, "may be there is someone you know, who…"

"I can stay!" Andy declares, surprising herself. The doctor turns and looks skeptically at her, and Miranda stops shaking just for long enough to pin her with the best of her glares. Andy gulps, but repeats, "I can stay."

Unexpectedly, Miranda gives in without a fight, which makes Andy feel relived and anxious at the same time.

"Very well," the doctor says. He looks unconvinced, but gives Andy an encouraging smile, when he leaves shortly after.

His instructions are very simple, Andy thinks, climbing the stairs back up - cold compresses for the fever, the woman has to stay in bed, offer tea or water, no medicine before three in the morning (something about waiting for twelve hours from the time of the previous dose), and call if there is a problem. Nothing to it, Andy reassures herself. Easy.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Miranda?" she asks, as she reenters the woman's bedroom. "Doctor Steckelman said you should drink something. Would you like me to make some tea?"

Miranda only growls in response and turns away.

Andy bites her lip and refuses to think about what she's got herself into and, more importantly, why. At least Miranda seems to shake less, she notes instead. That's good, isn't it?

Andy stations in the small sitting area, just outside Miranda's bedroom. She slumps into a very uncomfortable armchair and jots a quick text message to Emily. Then, after a brief hesitation, takes off her high heels. Ah, what a relief. But the next moment she is up and almost running, because she thinks she's heard a groan, coming from Miranda's bedroom.

"Miranda," she softly calls out from the door. "Are you…do you need…"

The woman, her back to Andy, croaks, "Go away…"

Andy nods and does as she is told. Only when she is back in her armchair, she realizes that she's let Miranda dismiss her, like they are still in the office, a boss and an employee, and not a patient and a nurse. No wonder the doctor was reluctant to leave Miranda in her care! Andy swears and promises herself to check on Miranda in fifteen minutes and not allow the woman to send her away so easily.

But she doesn't have to wait that long. Several fits of dry cough in the row, coming from Miranda's bedroom, give Andy a perfect cause to go back. Armed with two bottles – San Pellegrino and spring water – and a glass, she enters cautiously. However, very quickly, caution and drinks forgotten, she finds herself sitting next to Miranda's bed and holding a cold compress to the patient's burning forehead.

Andy isn't sure if the compress gives the woman much of a relief, though. Miranda eyes, feverishly bright, look past her, and her open-mouth breathing, raspy and elaborate, seems to get increasingly raspier and more elaborate. Every time Andy takes the compress cloth off to dip it in cold water, she feels that the fabric is almost sizzling in her hands. Biting her lip, Andy puts a refreshed compress on Miranda's forehead and considers if she is just panicking or she should check with the doctor.

She argues with herself for some time, while watching closely Miranda's flashed face and listening to the sounds, escaping her dry lips. There is nothing the doctor can do for her anyway, Andy's sensible part reasons. He did say the fever could go up quite high.

But Andy's scared part insists that it is another two hours until Miranda can have her medicine, and she is getting worse, and…and shit, the flu can be lethal.

"Miranda, I think I'd better call the doctor again," she tests it on her reflection in the enormous bathroom mirror, as she changes the water for the compress. Her reflection gives her an exasperated look. Andy shakes her head – no doubt the woman will have her killed or something for all the liberties she is taking here tonight. No doubt.

Andy closes the tap and halts. Has Miranda just called her?

She rushes back, sloshing the water from the shallow bowl. "Miranda?"

During Andy's absence, the woman kicked off the blanket, and now lies, clutching the edge of it, oddly small in the enormous bed. Miranda's black, silk pajamas, clinging to her sweaty, feverish body, make her look even smaller and, somehow, fragile. Vulnerable.

Andy feels her chest tighten, and for a moment she can't breathe.

"Elisabeth?" The woman turns to look at her. "Is it you?" She squints.

Andy gulps and steps closer the bed. "No, Miranda, it's, um, Andrea, it's…"

"Andrea," the woman repeats quietly and shuts her eyes. Andy hesitates if she should say something, but Miranda continues, "Elisabeth never comes."

Elizabeth? Who is she? Off the top of her head, Andy can't recall anybody by that name in Miranda's circles.

"She didn't come," Miranda whispers, "Again…"

For a split second a cold rash of apprehension immobilizes Andy – has she forgotten to contact someone? "Miranda, I…"

"Why didn't she?" Miranda seems not to hear her, and somehow then Andy knows that the woman isn't about to tear her head off for her inability to do her job. But she feels no relief, as she stares at Miranda's eyes, squeezed shut so tightly that would it be anyone else, Andy would think that the person is trying hard no to cry. Not Miranda, though, right? Still, Andy is compelled to avert her gaze, but she refuse to acknowledge that the tightness in her chest is back.

Her gaze falls on the bowl of water in her hands. Shit, she is an idiot! Miranda is probably delirious with fever, and she stands here, gaping at the woman, listening to… Andy swears under her breath and hastily sits down.

All right, delirium is a legitimate reason to check with the doctor, Andy decides, as she dips the compress cloth in the water, wrings it, and gently wipes Miranda's reddened cheeks and jaw that seem to radiate heat. Just to be on a safe side, she tells herself, smoothing the wet cloth on Miranda's forehead. Next time she goes to changes the water, she'll get the phone. It is unlikely that the woman would care at this point, anyway. And tomorrow…well…

"Elisabeth…" Miranda murmurs again.

Andy frowns. Who the hell is this Elisabeth?

"Please, I need you…please. What are you afraid of?" Miranda sobs.

Andy only have time to think "oh, shit," before the woman opens her eyes and looks straight at her. In a faint light of the night lamp, Miranda's eyes are gleaming darkly, the blue irises almost completely overwhelmed by the enlarged pupils.

Andy forgets to breathe, while for a long, excruciation moment Miranda stares at her. "Elisabeth?" the woman finally croaks.

Andy gulps and manages only a weak "uh…"

"No," Miranda shakes her head. "She is not coming." The compress cloth slides down. Andy moves to catch it, before it hits the pillow, but Miranda grabs her hands and jerks her closer. Andy, who hasn't expected either the sudden pull, or the strength of it, tumbles from the chair and lands on her knees next to Miranda's bed, face to face with the woman.

Andy has no time to notice the awkwardness of her position, or the sting in her knees, or how Miranda's slender fingers dig painfully in her wrists, because the woman starts talking. Hurriedly, cramming the whole phrases between raspy breaths, swallowing the ending of the words, Miranda speaks as if afraid that she won't be able to say everything she needs to say, as if someone is about to interrupt her.

"She doesn't want to… I know, but, please… I just want to see her. Why does she deny me that much? I am not… I won't say anything to her… Is she afraid I am going to say how much I…I will do no such thing... I won't embarrass her. She knows, I won't… If she is simply in the same room…I need to see her… Not even a hello, just…please… I…Elisabeth, please…Without you…I…can't…I…" Miranda's speech gets more and more disjointed, the words break down into unintelligible syllabus and sounds. She lets go of Andy's wrists and twists away.

For all but two seconds, terrified Andy watches the woman clutch at the collar of the pajama top, as if trying to rip it off or to tear it apart, before jumping up and rushing for her cell phone – the hell with it, she is calling the doctor…

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**A/N** Thank you for reading and reviewing


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

Okay, this is ridiculous, Andy thinks fumbling around for the blanket. It gets colder and colder every morning. One night she will freeze to death for sure. She really needs to talk to the super. Of course, it's not easy to do, when she is almost never home, with Miranda piling up work like… The thought of Miranda wakes Andy. So does the feel of something soft and furry under her hand. It's no blanket, Andy decides as she peels her eyes open, and she is not home. And then it hits her – Miranda.

Andy scrambles off the floor (how has she managed to wind up there?) and checks the bed. Oh, thank god - the woman is fast asleep, and it looks like the fever has subsided.

Relieved, Andy inhales, exhales, and sags into the chair. And smiles. Who would have thought that the sight of sleeping Miranda Priestly, snuggled deeply into the blanket, would evoke anything, but an urgent desire to slip away and take off? And yet, watching Miranda now - messed up silver hair; crow feet and wrinkles, clearly visible in a bright daylight; a hint of drool in the corner of the slightly open mouth; a faint dash of color on the high-boned soft cheek – makes Andy feel strangely captivated. Warm. Content.

Then again, she knows better than to relax.

In the bathroom she quickly fixes her hair and make-up. She then spends some time, attempting to sort out the gown that she's now worn (and slept in) for over twelve hours. She can imagine the look on Nigel's face, when she brings this gown back to the Closet. Hopefully, he won't stop talking to her afterwards.

Looking slightly more presentable, Andy returns to Miranda's bedroom and stumbles over the woman's glare. "What are you doing in my house?"

Andy opens her mouth, closes it, then opens again. "Uh, I…"

"Do take forever to answer a simple question. You know how it thrills me!"

"Miranda," Andy hates the way her voice quivers, "yesterday, you fell ill at the party and…"

"I don't need the recount of last night's events," Miranda interrupts, attempting to sit up. She stops Andy's move to help with an impatient gesture and struggles on her own, until she is propped against the pillows. "Why are you still here?"

Andy gulps and, unsure of what Miranda may remember, tries again, "The doctor didn't want to leave you alone, and you didn't want a nurse, and I was already here…"

"You were, weren't you," Miranda states and looks her up and down. "Is it the Malandrino you wore at the party last night?"

Automatically, Andy's hands go to smooth out the wrinkles. "Yes, it is." Would she be able to pay for this damn gown, if Miranda accuses her of destroying it by reckless wear?

But Miranda says nothing further about the gown. Instead, she pinches her lips in a tight line and studies Andy with cold, hooded eyes. Andy tries very hard not to fidget. Trouble is, the longer Miranda doesn't say anything, the harder it is. As much as Miranda was out of it last night, she still might remember something. Enough to make the ruined designer gown the least of Andy's worries.

Finally, Miranda moves her eyes away from Andy and looks out the window. "So, you've stayed, now you can go…wherever you go. Home. That's all."

"But I don't want to," almost comes out of Andy's mouth. Shocked, she sucks in a breath and carefully says "But I can't" instead.

Miranda, the eyebrow raised, slowly turns to look at her.

"I am sorry," Andy quickly continues, "but the doctor asked me to stay until he comes to check up on you."

"I do not need to see a doctor." Miranda's voice goes very quiet. Dangerous.

"Right. I'll call and tell him that you are awake and fine, and…"

"Give me the phone," Miranda interrupts impatiently.

While Miranda speaks to the doctor, Andy paces outside the woman bedroom. She has put her heels back on, and, ignoring the sorry state of her gown, looks presentable enough even for Miranda's stringent requirements. Not that it will help much, when…

"Andrea," Miranda calls out. Whatever the doctor has told the woman has put her in a better mood, Andy notices. There is even a hint of a smile on Miranda's lips, although it is gone as soon as she sees Andy. "Since you insist on staying, make yourself useful."

"Would you like me to go get you Starbucks?" Andy asks quickly, refusing to get upset over the disappearance of Miranda's smile.

The woman looks at her as if she can't decide how the biggest idiot on the planet is happened to be her assistant. Then, she glances pointedly at the hem of the Malandrino gown that has a little train to it and says, "I have a perfectly good coffee machine in the kitchen. Try not to destroy it."

"Of course." Andy nods and turns to leave, when she sees Miranda pushing her blanket aside. "But you can't…" Andy blurts out.

"Pardon?" Miranda's eyebrows go up.

"Your doctor wanted you to remain in bed, so…"

"I am sure a trip to the bathroom won't kill me," Miranda cuts. "That's all."

Probably it won't, Andy hurrying down the stair. Still, as she bustles around the kitchen, Andy can't help, but listen carefully to every sound coming from upstairs. She feels much better when she returns to Miranda's bedroom with the coffee and sees Miranda safely back in bed.

While they wait for the doctor, Miranda insists on doing some work and commands Andy to make calls, and to take notes, and to check e-mails. Which Andy does, to her own amazement, without a trace of displeasure. Probably, seeing Miranda being herself again makes up for a lot of inconveniences, Andy decides.

The doctor comes about an hour later. He smiles and says, "Rough night, huh?"

"I am so sorry, Doctor Steckelman," she blushes, "for calling you all night. I was just…"

The doctor stops her with a wave of his hand. "Andy, no apologies necessary. I am a doctor, remember? The guy, who people call, when they are sick."

"Yes, but…"

"No buts," the doctor interrupts. "Besides, it was my fault – I shouldn't have left you with Ms. Priestly." He shrugs. "But don't worry, I am going to rectify the situation." Only now Andy notices that the doctor is not alone. "Let me introduce you to Heather. Nurse Heather. Heather, this is Andy Sachs, Ms. Priestly assistant."

It is no wonder, Andy thinks, that she hasn't notice the woman before –the grey bulky coat and a bluish knitted hat make her almost invisible next to the tall, handsome doctor. But the nurse has a nice smile and a firm handshake.

Wait a moment, a nurse? "Doctor Steckelman, I am sure Heather is an excellent nurse, but Miranda is very adamant about…"

"Andy, I'll take care of it." The doctor smiles at her and, before she has a chance to argue any further, gestures to the stairs. "Ladies."

"Doctor Steckelman said you did very well last night," the nurse tells Andy as they follow the doctor, "but I am sure you can't wait to get out of this pretty dress and take a long nap, don't you?"

Andy doesn't understand why Heather's friendly address makes her feel anything but friendly, so she just "hmm's" in response and tells herself that Miranda will never agree to this.

But Miranda does, and ten minutes later Andy finds herself outside the townhouse, hauling the taxi and cursing the January icy wind, her high heels and too thin coat, and…and…

At home, she peels off her gown and falls asleep, having barely made it to her bed.

She doesn't dream of anything, but wakes up late at night, sweating and gasping for breath. At first, she doesn't know what to make of it, but then it comes to her – Miranda. Is she… Does she… How is she?

Gosh…

Andy inhales and exhales slowly several times and goes to check her messages. There is none from Miranda. Which is not unusual. It is Saturday, after all. A weekend.

Or Miranda's fever has spiked again, and… Andy gulps.

No, it's fine, she tells herself firmly. And, no doubt, Heather is much better than Andy at dealing with… Everything is fine.

Right.

Absolutely.

There is also a good possibility that she was fired.

Yet, as she rummages in vain through her fridge, dresses up and goes out in search of twenty-four hour deli, Andy can't stop picturing Miranda, shaking from the rising fever, a strand of silver hair stuck to the sweaty forehead, blue eyes bright and unfocused …

Unable to sleep, Andy spends most of the night watching infomercials and pacing around her tiny apartment. She finally dozes off on the couch, only to wake up a mere couple of hours later, shivering despites the sweats and a pair of long woolen socks. She should get the super, Andy thinks, Sunday morning or not, and make the man fix her damn heating unit. Instead, she stares with blearily eyes at the wall for a while and then goes to check her messages.

There are none.

Andy swears and decides that she is being ridiculous. If she is so concerned about Miranda, she should just call Heather and ask her directly.

"Good morning, Andy," Heather answers cheerfully, "It is so nice of you to call. I am sure Miranda will appreciate your concern."

That Andy doubts very much. "So, um, how is she?"

"Oh, Ms. Priestly is resting. She had a difficult day yesterday and some trouble with fever last night…"

Andy's grip on her cell gets a little tighter. "Was it, uh, high?" The image of Miranda, talking in hot, raspy whispers, flushes before Andy's eyes, and she swallows hard.

"No, nothing more than a hundred and two," Heather answers. "She handled it very well. Ms. Priestly is a fighter."

You have no idea, Andy thinks. Well, may be you have, having spent a whole day with Miranda. Surprising, Heather still manages to sound cheerful. Is she that professional? On the other hand, Andy remembers the way Miranda let Dr. Steckelman talk to her. May be there is another side to her boss, Andy considers. Reserved for those, who do not work for the Runway, she adds grimly.

Better not to dwell on in it.

"I'd like to stop by." Andy supposes she sounds reasonable. People visit their sick colleagues all the time. "Should I bring anything?"

"I don't think it's a good idea, Andy," Heather tells her sincerely. "It doesn't look like Ms. Priestly will be up for receiving visitors today."

Andy bites her lip. "But, um, does she need…Do you have food?"

"Oh, don't worry about us." Even over the phone, Andy can tell that the nurse has a warm smile. "Rosalinda, Ms. Priestly's housekeeper, is here. She is taking good care of Ms. Priestly and me. There is no need for you to come."

But I just want to see Miranda, almost pops out of Andy's mouth. She coughs and says, "Tomorrow then?'

"I hope so. But talk to Dr. Steckelman first, Andy."

"Okay, I'll call him." Andy hesitates. "Keep me updated on, um, Miranda, all right?"."

It turns out that Dr. Steckelman not only wants no visitors for Miranda, he also prefers her daughters to stay away from her for a day or so and thinks that the earliest Miranda can be back at the office is Wednesday.

Wednesday!? Andy has no idea why it should bother her so much. Yet, as she exchanges texts with Emily, and negotiates with Miranda's ex-husband to have him keep the girls for another day, and rearranges Miranda's schedule, Andy can't stop thinking that it is two full days till Wednesday.

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**A/N** Thank you for reading and reviewing


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

She is almost done with the schedule, when she receives a slightly panicked text from Nigel - the Monday's editorial meeting is going to be a disaster without Miranda.

Andy calls him. "She'll hopefully be on a speaker."

"Six, it's not enough," Nigel whines. "Everything is different, if she is simply in the same room…"

"Well,"Andy begins and pauses. If she is simply in the same room… This sound familiar, but she can't quite put her finger on it. If she is simply…

It comes to her, when Emily and she finish revising their 'to do' list in a view of Miranda's illness.

"The 'thank you' notes have to be done by Wednesday," Emily informs Andy.

TY's Fri party, Andy types quickly. "Do you know which ones she'd want to sign personally?"

"I thought you became an expert on Miranda lately," Emily sneers. "Besides, you spent the whole night at her house after the party. I am sure you had a chance to have a nice chat about the guests."

Right. Of course, we had a chat, except for… Andy hands up the phone. Except for Miranda was very sick and out of it most of the time, and the only thing she said was… Wait a moment. She said it. She said – "if she is simply in the same room." And she was talking about, what's the name, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, who never comes…

On Sunday afternoon the _Runway_ offices are empty, save for a couple of junior people, who show no interest in Andy. Which suites her just fine. She grabs the familiar box of RSVP's and goes straight to her desk.

After several hours of vigorous leafing through the cards, various lists and notes, searching through computer files, and a lot of swearing (really, it is twenty first century, for crying out loud, isn't it time to abandon the stupid rule of putting only husband's first name on a card?), Andy has two Elizabeth. Then, she adds Liza, because for all she knows this woman could be Liza to the whole world, but Miranda would still call her Elizabeth.

Now, which one is it, Andy wonders, looking at her short list and massaging her temples. Which one of you, ladies, get Miranda so distraught?

Andy gets up to stretch her stiffened limbs and walk around. Only now she notices how tired she is. Dead tired. She glances at the papers, covering her desk, then, through the glass doors, into Miranda's empty office, and runs her hand through her hair.

Well. If she leaves right now, she will have time to for a decent dinner and a talk with her super. And good night sleep.

So.

Andy runs her hand through her hair again, frowns, and goes back to her desk.

She quickly eliminates the first Elizabeth. For one, the woman actually came to the party. Besides, Andy can't imagine anyone would want to be in the same room with her (including her own husband, who spent most of the party at the bar), because now, when Andy thinks about it, she recalls a short, stick-thin woman, with a face scrunched up in a perpetual grimace, which probably is supposed to represent a smile.

The second Elizabeth, Mrs. Stein, who's declined Miranda's invitation, isn't easy to find. Andy has never heard of her, but apparently, the world is full of women, named Elizabeth Stein. After going through about two dozen of them, Andy curses Internet in general and Google in particular, and, frustrated, moves to Liza, a recent trophy wife of one of the publishing executives.

She might be the one, Andy considers. She wasn't at Miranda's party, but it is very likely that the two have known each other for a while. Even before Liza's marriage, which has propelled her into very elite socialite circles, she has worked in different capacities in several fashion houses. Andy has no trouble finding the woman's name mentioned here and there, and a few of her photographs at an assortments of posh events. Would Miranda particularly want to be in the same room with this woman? Frowning, Andy studies the pictures, sighs, and goes back to the second Elizabeth.

The RSVP card, which has come from Dr. and Mrs. Stein, looks exactly like any RSVP card in the box. A small check mark in the 'will not attend' line. Nothing unusual. Still, Andy stares at the card, then, at the Connecticut address on the envelope, as if there is a secret there she's missed the first time she's looked.

Has Miranda asked for the RSVP box to do just that?

Andy pushes the card aside and goes back on the Internet.

All right, she thinks biting her lip, assuming this Elizabeth is not in the public eye, then… Absentmindedly, Andy pokes around anything Connecticut, until she stumbles upon one of the local newspapers. She flicks through the pages of its Internet achieves, and, a miracle of miracles, soon finds a little blurb from several years ago about Elizabeth Stein, a wife of the town's favorite pediatrician, giving birth to the couple's third child. Maternal grandparents are, Andy does a double take, Dr. and Mrs. Steckelman.

Gosh, it must be it, this must be the Elizabeth, Andy leans closer to the screen to reread the short announcement. If Miranda's doctor is some relative of hers, then there is a link between this Elizabeth and Miranda.

With renewed vigor Andy begins taping on the keyboard's keys, searching for more information. Annual dinners… Graduation ceremonies… Women in Business Club of Connecticut…Youth sports… Andy keeps on looking, not that she has any idea what it is exactly she is looking for. She just needs to know…

A while later, exasperated she pushes away from the desk. There is nothing, absolutely nothing. And it feels like she is looking for a needle in a haystack. Maybe not even a needle.

Andy glances at the door to Miranda's office, swears, and pulls her chair back to the desk…

The picture is taken forever to come up. Andy sits, propping her head, eyes half-closed, idly wondering if she's managed to pick up some spyware or virus while combing through the Internet tonight. The IT guy, what's his name, will definitely have a few choice words for her tomorrow, and…

She forgets about the viruses and the IT guy. The picture is up, and Andy's eyes are instantaneously drawn to a woman in the left corner of it. The woman smiles for the photographer, and there is so much warmth in her smile that it carries over through the lenses of the camera to the flat computer screen, and makes Andy feel like smiling back. There are other people on the picture, Andy is aware of it, but she sees only this one woman. And her genial, infectious smile.

And then it dawns on her.

Oh.

Right…

Andy blinks – she's been staring at the woman for quite some time. As an afterthought, she drags her eyes to the caption. It is a long, awkward paragraph - opening of the Pediatric wing…state-of-the-art equipment…honorary guests included… Andy skims over it, without paying much attention, until she finds 'Dr. Stein with his wife…' Right.

She looks at the woman again. The dress is definitely not by any known designer, so are the shoes. The make-up is very understated. The hair – wavy, blond tresses - is let loose over bare shoulders without much of styling or design. The jewelry, the clutch… Andy sighs - the longer she looks, the less plausible it seems that there is any kind of connection between this woman and Miranda Priestly. Even the way Mrs. Stein leans affectionately into her husband's half-embrace, is so different from Miranda's cold, distant manners that Andy begins to seriously doubt the correctness of her assumptions.

But then there is a smile. Whoever can make Elizabeth Stein smile like that is probably a very lucky man.

Or a woman.

Andy swears and jams the computer's 'off' button.

She takes a subway home. Because it is so late on Sunday night, she spends more time on a platform, waiting for the train, than actually riding it. It doesn't really bother her, thought, as she keeps thinking of how Elizabeth Stein, an ordinary woman from suburban Connecticut, could've met Miranda Priestly, an Editor-in-Chief of the most prestigious fashion magazine in the world.

Maybe Dr. Stein is an amazing pediatrician, and Miranda' s doctor's recommended him for a consultation in regards to Caroline or Cassidy's health.

Or one of Miranda's ex-husbands belongs to some exclusive country club in Connecticut, where he plays golf with Dr. Stein.

Or Miranda and Stein family has rented neighboring houses in Hamptons, and… No, probably not Hamptons…

Maybe Miranda's daughters were in the same sleep-away camp as Stein's children. Are Caroline and Cassidy even allowed to go to sleep-away camp?

Andy carefully considers each scenario, then comes up with the next one. It is easier to do that, then to think about the reason her cold-blooded, cold-hearted bitch of a boss in delirium calls for a woman. A woman, who never comes to her.

And Andy absolutely refuse to consider why even not thinking about that reason makes her chest tighten so much, she can barely breathe...

The next week is awful. While Miranda recovers at home and communicates with her assistants mostly over the phone, Andy is holding on. But on Wednesday morning as she meets Miranda at the _Runway_ offices' elevator door, Andy blushes and chocks on her greetings. Mortified she waits for the woman's reaction, but Miranda, thankfully, doesn't notice her discomfort and promptly begins firing instructions, marching through the hallways and glaring at scattering before her employees. Relieved, Andy rushes after her, but somehow catches only half of what she says and has to spend hours, guessing the rest.

It doesn't get any better. Even thought, by the end of the day Andy manages to get the blushing and chocking under control, by Friday she knows there is absolutely nothing she can do about the difficulty concentrating around Miranda. And being the woman's assistant means she _is_ around Miranda most of the time.

Who can work like that?

Andy knows it is just a matter of time, before she makes a mistake.

Screws up something really important.

Tells Miranda that…Oh, god, no.

No.

Andy muddles through another two weeks, before she begins catching Emily's suspicious glances. Then she gives up.

Her hands are shaking slightly, when she walks into Miranda's office to deliver the blouse samples, Miranda's requested. The woman is sitting at her desk, scrutinizing printouts from the latest shoot, and does not look at Andy.

I can do it, Andy tells herself firmly, ignoring the tightness in her chest. I have to.

"Miranda, there is something I need to tell you," she swallows, "I am leaving the _Runway_."

The woman lowers the photographs and glances at her over the rim of the reading glasses. "And where are you going?"

"Um, nowhere, actually. I haven't started looking yet." Andy knows this makes no sense, and Miranda points it out right away.

"You do realize that usually people find a new employment before leaving the previous one."

"Um, yes," Andy answers hesitantly.

Miranda cocks her head and after a short pause asks quietly, "Is there a problem I am not aware of?"

"No, there is…no." It's not only her hands that are shaking now, her voice does too, Andy realizes with alarm.

Miranda puts down the photographs, takes off her glasses, and looks at Andy. "So," she says slowly, "you just want to leave the _Runway_."

Andy nods, because, apparently, she can't trust her voice any longer. Besides, she has said all she could say.

Miranda, probably, realizes that. She doesn't ask any more questions, but instead silently studies Andy for what seems like an eternity. Andy struggles not to fidget under the intense stare.

Moments go by agonizing moments, but Miranda continues looking at her. Why is she doing it, Andy begins to panic. Should I ask? Can I leave? Her shaking hands turn clammy, and Andy can barely hold herself from wiping them against her skirt.

Meanwhile Miranda doesn't relent. She purses her lips and stares at Andy, as if waiting for… For what? Apology? Retraction? Explanation?...Confession?

Oh god, Miranda remembers what happened the nigh, when she had the flu, Andy suddenly realizes. Miranda remembers what she's said in delirium!

Andy swallows hard. In a span of two heartbeats her immediate future flashes before her eyes – turned down from every publication in New York, forced to go back to Ohio, permitted only to write obituaries for a small town newspaper…

But for some reason this doesn't bother her as much as it should. Instead, the unbearable tightness in Andy's chest drives all the air out of her lungs. Oh, Miranda, you don't have to worry about me, Andy implores, because if you only knew, if only I could tell you…

What if I tell her? The thought scares the daylight out of Andy, just like it has for the last three weeks. And yet… That woman, Elizabeth, is and, most likely, won't be available. For Miranda. But she, Andy…

Andy doesn't know exactly what she is going to say, when she opens her mouth. But before she has a chance to say anything at all, something shifts in Miranda's eyes. The woman blinks, lowers her gaze, and clears her throat. Then she says quietly, "Well."

Andy stands absolutely still, barely breathing, waiting for…

Miranda picks up the photograph, puts back on her reading glasses, and adds, as an afterthought, "Tell Emily to start looking for you replacement. That's all."

A month later Andy works for the _Mirror_. It is not exactly a job of her dreams, but she gets to write, she doesn't spend her days running her boss' errands, and her clothes have no reflection on her value as an employee.

And she doesn't have to see Miranda Priestly.

Although, she still does sometimes, when she walks past Elias-Clarke building.

And sometimes, she believes Miranda sees her too.

...

**The end**

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**A/N **Thank you for reading and reviewing.


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